


dreaming about the things that we could be

by windwhisper



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, No Plot/Plotless, Self-Indulgent, set in some nebulous time period post-bw2 arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windwhisper/pseuds/windwhisper
Summary: Sometime shortly after the BW2 arc, Black and White have finally been reunited. And even though going back to normal after everything they've been through is difficult, at least they're together.





	dreaming about the things that we could be

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from OneRepublic's Counting Stars! I love the dream imagery with these two, so I'm just rolling with it. I'd like to also preface this by saying, outside of a handful of BW and BW2 chapters, the last time I really read the BW arc was around 2012 or 2013. My memory's a bit fuzzy, but my love for these two is as strong as it ever was, so I hope it's alright as far as characterization goes!

"Black?" White asks quietly, eyes closed and half asleep. They're watching a movie, or at least they're _supposed_ to be, but they must have turned the sound off a while ago, because aside from her voice there's only silence.  
  
"Yeah?" His answer is almost instant. She doesn't respond, though, beyond a soft sigh when she hears his voice. It's all she wants, really; any kind of reassurance that he's real and present and person-shaped. But he's unaware that her question doesn't really need an answer, and so he asks again. "What is it, Prez?"  
  
"Hm? Oh, it's… Nothing." It's not, not really, because it's Black and he's _everything_ , but it's not important. The important thing is that he's here, with her, and not trapped in a rock or the dream world or any other place that she can't reach.  
  
"You're lying," he says, and though she can't see his face in their current position she can imagine his frown. "If something's bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?"  
  
She does. Of course she does, even when she doesn't tell him because she doesn't want him dealing with her problems on top of his own. This isn't something bothering her, though. If anything, it's the opposite.  
  
"Prez?" She barely registers his voice, lost in her own thoughts about him. "White…?"  
  
_That_ is what finally catches her attention. Even now, as equals and friends and maybe-something-more, it's rare for him to use her name. "Sorry, Black. I was just thinking."  
  
"What were you thinking about?"  
  
The honest curiosity in his voice leads her to respond without thinking. "You."  
  
A single silent moment passes, and she can feel her face flush. Is he looking at her? She really hopes he's not.  
  
"I mean--" she starts, trying to explain herself in a way that might make it seem less _weird_ and unable to find the words.  
  
She's spared, though, by Black gently squeezing her hand. "It's fine, you know? But you don't have to think about me when I'm right here!"  
  
"Yeah," she agrees, looking to the hand that's still holding hers. It's soft and warm and decidedly not a stone. "That's actually what I was thinking about. Just… It's good to have you back."  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, and it's nothing he hasn't said before. She still wishes he'd stop apologizing, stop acting like anything that's happened is in any way his fault.   
  
But she also wonders if it's something that makes him feel a little bit better after everything they've been through. And he doesn't complain when she takes his hand to remind herself that he's there and not going anywhere, and he doesn't complain when she asks unnecessary questions just to hear his voice answer her. So she doesn't complain when he apologizes.  
  
It's almost romantic, in the strange and somewhat tragic way so much of their story seems to be. She still doesn't complain.  
  
"It's not your fault," she says instead, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm just happy that you're here now."  
  
“Yeah.” Black lets go of her hand, just for a moment, and she turns to look at him. As she does, he takes both of her hands in his. He’s looking at her like she’s something out of a dream, as ironic as that is. “We both are. The two of us, together.”  
  
There's a moment where times seems to stand still. A moment where they stay like that, holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. And in that moment, she wonders - if they are the dreamers, if that is what they do, then maybe they can dream a happy ending for themselves? The two of them, together, the way it was always meant to be...  
  
Or maybe she could just live in this moment for the rest of her life. She could live with that, too.  
  
As long as they're together.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a soft happy fluffy thing, when it started out. And, as most of my ideas do, it sort of spiraled out of my control. I did keep the central things I wanted, though: dream imagery and hand holding. Lots and lots of hand holding. It's still very self-indulgent, but I hope that if you read this far you found something enjoyable in it! Please let me know if you did, I'd love to hear about what other people think worked here.


End file.
